durban: my introduction to south africa

Thursday, June 5

Finally arrived in Durban and glanced the Indian Ocean after three flights and many hours in Frankfurt & Johannesburg – roughly 30 hours of travel. Happy to say it is balmy, welcoming, and the beginning of a new adventure. 

Although we arrived on time to Durban, my luggage didn’t.  The strange part was that I had just had my bag in my hand a few hours before in Johannesburg, where I had to take it through customs and recheck it.  At least I knew it was in the country.  Fortunately, the woman handling lost luggage claims was on it – if she had anything to do with making sure my bag found its way to me, I would have it before nightfall.  She took my information, telling me that 786 (my house number) is a lucky number for Muslims, though she herself wasn’t a Muslim, it was just something she knew from her encounters with Muslims, ending with, “Your house is blessed.”   She told me they would call me when my bag was located and sent me on my way. 

Long story short, although the owner of the guesthouse where we stayed that night assured me I'd be lucky to see my bag the next day at the earliest, he brought it to me singing a song as soon as we returned from dinner.

 

We exited the airport and found the shuttle bus that would take us into the city and eventually dropped us at Gibela Backpackers Lodge.  A serene enclave in Morningside.  Fortunately, we had landed in a safe spot – a relative bubble in the city – as this was the only area of the city Elmar (the owner) told us we should find ourselves after dark. 

Elmar gave us a full orientation to the ins and outs of his fair city, complete with map drawings.  All I could manage this night was a walk along Florida Avenue (funny, since I had told Kathi that several things – the architecture of a hotel, the palm trees – made me think of Florida).  We meandered the full stretch of cafes, restaurants, and storefronts; toasted our arrival to ZA at dinner; and sent off quick emails to family to let them know we had arrived – followed by falling exhausted into bed.  

Friday, July 6

Already I am beginning to feel acclimated to my surroundings.  We meandered around the city today, taking in the sights but having no true activities or agenda.  After breakfast we headed to the beachfront, about a 30 minute walk from our guesthouse.  The stretch of Sandile Thusi Road
that links our guesthouse to the ocean is unspectacular at best though it is listed on the map as a pedestrian route.

I can’t get over the smog, especially since Durban is touted as a major tourist attraction with fantastic beaches and a lively scene both day and night.  While today was a clear, sunny day, this city doesn’t seem to enjoy the bluebird skies we welcome back in Colorado.  Rather, a grayness caps the skyline as if trapping the city and its inhabitants in a dark cloud of diesel fumes and residual smoke.  While it’s not so bad that you can’t seem to escape it, noxious odors rise and waft from time to time, reminding me that I am walking around in an unhealthy environment.

When we arrived to the beachfront, I dipped my toes into the Indian Ocean.  Though the water was slightly warmer than it was cold, I'm not sure how others were braving a swim.  This is the first ocean I've been too that boasts its shark nets, designed to keep the beaches safe and free of the Great White.  Must be some hardy nets. 

Sailboats were adrift out on the water, and sailing vessels were much farther out beyond them.  I spotted a perfectly cylindrical shell at the base of what looked like a question mark drawn in the sand.  I bent down to pick it up and it “heaved” ever so slightly as though it were adjusting itself in the sand. Kathi said “that one’s still alive” just soon enough to prevent me from picking it up.  I had nudged it gently and it sunk itself deeply into the sand as if it were being absorbed by the earth.

 

We spent the next 20 minutes searching them out along the shoreline.  Waves would wash over them and they would attempt to anchor into the sand, sometimes successfully holding their ground, other times flitting away as the water pulled back into the ocean, the muscle / snail drifting kite-like with its body spread wide like a fin or sail.  At first I thought they were purposely doing this in order to navigate or be pulled by the force of the retreating water, but this was more likely an unsuccessful attempt to anchor into the sand.

Being a pedestrian – crossing streets in particular – seems to present the greatest safety hazards I’ve encountered thus far.  Not because I forget to look right instead of left because this is foremost in my mind and I always look left (they use the British system of driving on the left side of the road here).  Quite simply it’s because drivers believe that vehicles have the right of way.  Always.  Even when the little green man beckons you to traverse the street.  Even when vehicles are turning against a red light.  Even when you make eye contact with drivers.  And they will let you know by passing so closely that you feel a wash of wind sweep your body as they pass and your knees buckle slightly in relief that you weren’t just hit and dragged down the street or vaulted back to the sidewalk.  I’ve noticed that this treatment isn’t reserved for tourists who don’t get the rules of the road.  Time and time again I have watched locals dodging in and out of traffic, getting honked at for having the nerve to walk across the line of moving vehicles, or jumping back and forth between them in a real-life version of Frogger.  While I imagine that drivers don’t intend to hit pedestrians and would rather not have to scrape blood and body parts off their fenders, it’s a wonder people aren’t getting run over at every turn.  Kathi and I have actually established some rules of our own – no telling stories or fumbling with anything in your hands while crossing the street, cross with your eyes averted over your shoulder while crossing rather than watching where you’re headed, and always use the hand stop or grab to save one another from close calls.  So far, so good.

Overall, it seems easy to be here.  Perhaps it’s because Durban is a big city in a developed country and things don’t seem as foreign as I expected they might.  Plus, with nearly everyone here being English speaking, it’s quite easy to figure things out and find my way around.  The city feels multi-culturally diverse, and this seems to be promoted (this stood out on an political billboard for the ANC – African National Congress – that I passed by) though I wonder what this is truly like.  How has coexistence developed since the ending of apartheid?  What racial tensions exist?  What disparities?  Do blacks and whites live together peacefully and amiably?